


Star Trek: the Next Generation: The End of the Duras sisters

by dmarsh14



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Body Inflation, Inflation, Other, Popping, Weight Gain, belly inflation, belly stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmarsh14/pseuds/dmarsh14
Summary: After their failed attempt to take over the Klingon High Council, Lursa and B'Etor of the House of Duras try another underhanded scheme to rebuild their finances. They try smuggling a new, unknown fruit into Klingon territory for sale. Unfortunately for them (and others), it turns out to be highly addictive, and highly fattening.





	

     “Captain’s Log, Stardate 48632.4. We have received reports of Boslic smugglers making deliveries to the edge of Klingon space. Starfleet Command has tasked the Enterprise with determining what is the cargo, and their purpose in delivering it. Naturally, given the previous actions of the Klingon House of Duras, we are also to ascertain whether Lursa and B’Etor are involved, and if so, are they again attempting to raise finances for an army to attempt another overthrow of Gowron and the Klingon High Council.”

     As he settled into his chair at the center of the Enterprise bridge, Captain Jean-Luc Picard gazed around the bridge at the crew: Commander William Riker to his right, Ensign Branson at the helm, Lieutenant Commander Data at Ops, and Counselor Deanna Troi to his left. He knew that Lieutenant Worf stood ready at the Security station behind him. Just now, the Engineering station was unmanned, with Geordi LaForge at work in Engineering.  
     Picard turned his head to look straight at Troi. It had been gradual, but for the last few months, it had seemed that Troi had been steadily putting on weight. By now, she was easily 150 or 175 kilograms, three times larger, or more, than when she signed on the Enterprise. Picard privately wondered at her change. He glanced at her again; at least 175, likely more. His eyes roamed from her face, now rounded with bulging cheeks and two chins sagging from her jaw, itself hidden by fatty deposits, down over her shoulders, softened by many pounds of flab, to her arms, so fattened they strained against the seams of her sleeves with visible rolls of fat poking through the ends, forming mini-aprons against her fatty hands. Her chest was much larger than before, showing much more cleavage than previously, also straining the plunging neckline of her jumpsuit. Lower, her stomach formed nearly a perfect sphere jutting from her torso, itself much wider than before. Her wide bridge station seat was filled to capacity by her wide body, stuffed between the arms and squeezed tightly in. Her belly spread out forwards, nearly covering her whole lap, hiding her wide wide thighs. Her calves formed little cones, from the fat rolls covering her ankles and visible clearly through the tightened, stretched fabric of her pants, running to slightly smaller rolls covering her feet.  
     One of Picard’s eyebrows raised as he noticed that her feet were in open sandals, their fatty girth bulging between the straps. She must have been gaining very fast, for her to not have new fitted boots. With a tiny shrug, Picard decided to let it slide; on the ship, it shouldn’t be a big problem, and he’d remind her later, in private, to get new boots for her new fatness. Even so, her massive body was squeezed tightly into her command seat, normally far wider than needed for humanoid bodies, and very roomy.  
     As Picard turned back to face the viewscreen, he noticed Riker watching him. He turned, saw Riker smiling at him and glancing over Picard’s shoulder at the immense panorama of her obesity. Riker gave a small smile of complicity with Picard’s eyeing of his Ship’s Counselor, which Picard ignored; bridge discipline needed to be maintained.  
     Looking back at Ensign Branson at the Helm, Picard noticed that she too was quite plump, her sides visible clearly around her chair’s back, bulging nearly 20 centimeters to each side. On the one hand, Picard knew that Dr. Crusher would let him know if any crewmember was unable to fulfill their duties, and would work with the crewmember to regain their health, but still, if there was some sort of epidemic of weight gain on his ship, he wanted to know about it.  
     Data turned in his chair to face Picard. “Captain, we are nearing the region of space reported utilized by the Boslics,” he said calmly.  
     “Very well, Mr. Data,” Picard answered. “Mr. Worf, scan the local area for any Boslic activity, or any evidence of cloaked ships.”  
     “Aye sir,” came Worf’s rumbling bass voice.  
     “You realize that any smugglers will likely see us and abort their delivery,” Riker said to Picard.  
     “Very likely, Number One,” Picard answered absently, “but, they being smugglers, we have every right to bring them in nonetheless, and question them about their activities.”  
     “Yes sir,” Riker said.  
     Considering carefully, Picard turned back to Data. “Mr. Data, is there any way we can remain undetected by any ships in the area while we search?”  
     Data’s head tilted, as it often did when he ran calculations. “I believe so, Captain,” he said after a few seconds. “This region of space contains many electromagnetic irregularities, likely the reason smugglers prefer it. If we can position the Enterprise in close proximity to one of these irregularities, we should be able to remain hidden to other ships’ sensor sweeps.”  
     Rike spoke up. “Will we still be able to perform our own scans?”  
     Data paused again, then answered, “yes, sir. Our scanning systems are notably more powerful than smaller freighters of the type favored by independent traders, and I can further alter our scans to use multiphasic scanning techniques to penetrate the interference.”  
     Nodding decisively, Picard gestured towards Data, giving his characteristic, “Make it so, Mr. Data. Ensign Branson, take us to the location of the nearest irregularity of great enough size and density to hide us, one-quarter impulse.”  
     “Aye sir,” came a chorus of Data’s tenor, and Branson’s husky alto. The Enterprise glided smoothly to the cover of a nearby electromagnetic distortion, and Data (and Worf) closely monitored the altered sensor scans.

     Nearly an hour later, Worf reported, “Sir! A Boslic freighter is approaching.”  
     Picard smiled tightly. “Very good, Mr. Worf,” he replied. “Continue tracking them; I want to know if they meet any other ship.”  
     “Aye sir,” Worf rumbled. Seconds later, he added, “Sir! I am detecting a high concentration of tetryon particles.”  
     “A cloaked ship?” Riker asked.  
     “It is consistent with readings caused by a cloak, sir.”  
     Picard mused a moment. “Well, if they are meeting the Boslics, they’ll have to decloak. Let’s wait here and see what they do.”  
     Nobody bothered to acknowledge; everyone watched the viewscreen, or the sensor readouts, intent on the action occurring outside.  
     Soon enough, a Klingon Bird of Prey decloaked, blocking the path of the small freighter. “Mr. Worf!” barked Picard. “Can you identify that ship?”  
     “Yes, Captain,” Worf answered. “It is a D12 class Bird of Prey.” After a moment, he added, “It is the ship belonging to Lursa and B’Etor of the House of Duras.”  
     “Captain, I am detecting an energy surge,” reported Data.  
     “The transfer of cargo?” wondered Riker.  
     “Indeed Commander,” answered Data. “It is consistent with use of a transporter.”

     Picard stirred. “Ensign Branson, take us towards them. Mr. Worf, hail the Bird of Prey.”  
     “Channel open, sir.”  
     “Klingon Bird of Prey, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise, also empowered by Gowron and the High Council to deal with Klingon      affairs.”  
     “No response, Captain,” rumbled Worf.  
     “Ensign, how far from them are we?” Riker asked Branson.  
     “5000 kilometers, sir. Closing at one-quarter impulse.”  
     “Take us to full impulse, Ensign,” ordered Picard. “I don’t want to lose them before we talk.”  
     “Aye, sir,” answered Ensign Branson. “Closing at full impulse on the Bird of Prey.”  
     “Weapons ready and locked onto the Duras’s ship, sir!” called Worf.  
     Riker, not Picard, answered. “Very well, Mr. Worf. Shields up!”  
     “Aye sir,” Worf said, activating the Enterprise’s defensive shield.  
     “Maintain open channel, Mr. Worf,” ordered Picard. At Worf’s acknowledgement, Picard spoke over the transmission, “I advise you not to attempt to cloak and flee. Accepting smuggled cargo does not carry a sizable penalty under Klingon law; fleeing from a confrontation, however, can be harmful to what reputation you still have.”  
     Riker grinned. “That should hit their pride, sir.”  
     Picard nodded. “With any luck, Number One. I--”  
     Before he could say any more, Lursa’s voice came over the open communication channel. “Picard,” she growled. “Why are you interfering with our trade operations again? You have no authority over us.”  
     Picard smiled grimly, knowing its change in his voice would transmit clearly. “Chancellor Gowron and the High Council are naturally concerned about your extra-legal activities, and have given me, and the Enterprise, continuing authority to deal with you, if necessary.”  
     He half-turned towards Worf. “Mr Worf, can you open visual communications?”  
     “Aye, sir,” responded the Klingon officer, as he began to.

     Moments later, the Bird of Prey’s bridge blinked on, on the viewscreen. Picard’s eye widened slightly, but he held his discipline in the face of the image that met him. Both sisters were on the bridge, Lursa sitting at the center chair and B’Etor behind her to one side.  
     Or at least, Picard was forced to assume Lursa sat on a chair. She was gargantuan; bloated with so much fat packed on her frame that any chair underneath her was completely invisible, smothered by her mammoth flab.  
     The two Klingon women together took almost all the room on the ship’s bridge. Between their massive bellies, visibly hard, stuffed to capacity and billowing out to completely cover their legs, as well as rising up higher than their heads as they sat, and their gigantic asses, ballooning out behind and to their sides by at least the same width as their torsos, and their impossible breasts, blimps of flesh bloated with monumental fat, they were held immobile.  
     Both women’s legs, what could be seen beneath the gargantuan belly aprons, led the imagination to immensity; Picard guessed each leg must be larger around than the smaller Jeffries tubes in the innards of the Enterprise. Their feet also, were far too fat to fit into any shoes, and hung bare at the end of flabby ankles.  
     Their arms, though enormous, were still useful, since the women still worked them to feed themselves, and each other, even while they were talking with Picard on the Enterprise. The diameter of both women’s arms was easily larger than Lursa’s pre-feeding waist, even her hips, and their hands were swollen with fat to near-spheres with pudgy fingers, packed with so much mass that they seemed larger than a wrist should be. But still, even in the middle of a sentence, Lursa and B’Etor would somehow manage to close those pudgy spheres around food, and force the impossibly arms to bend to their own, or the other’s, mouth to feed.  
     Looking at the handfuls of food they crammed into each other, and themselves, Picard could only identify some kind of fruit, being consumed in a single bite, skin, any core, and all. Some of them were large enough to stretch the Klingon women’s mouths to their limit to get them inside, and stretching their cheeks wide to hold the gargantuan mouthful while it was chewed and finally swallowed, making a wide bulge in the throat as the entire mass went down into the already-packed stomach.  
     Incredibly, Picard thought that, as each woman swallowed a mouthful, moments later, their whole bodies would inflate larger. Not just the bellies (which was only to be expected, those bellies already packed to their limits), but extra fat billowed out over their whole bodies. How fast did those fruits digest? And how many Calories were packed into them?  
     A quick glance around the Klingon ship’s bridge showed that the entire bridge crew was female, and all of them kept one hand on their duty stations, while with the other, each woman stuffed herself just as much as the two sisters. Picard marveled that there was any room left for any of them to grow more; it seemed that all the women on the Klingon bridge were packed belly-to-belly, forming a solid mass of fatty flesh, filling up the entire bridge with obesity.  
Mumbling through her ever-full mouth, Lursa addressed Picard, pulling him from his dumbfounded examination. “We are not working against Gowron, or the High Council. We are simply rebuilding our family’s finances after the excessive costs we incurred.”  
     B’Etor didn’t waste her efforts speaking, she just nodded as she used both hand to keep her mouth packed full to overflowing with the strange fruits.  
     Keeping his composure, Picard answered them, “Be that as it may, smuggling is still illegal.” Making a mental leap, he continued, “ and if your contraband cargo is those fruits you are consuming, it would seem from your inability to stop eating them even while conversing, that they are highly addictive and thus are a controlled substance. By authority of Chancellor Gowron and the Klingon High Council, I hereby order you to turn over the shipment you just transported onto your ship to us for testing and evaluation.”  
     Squeezing the words out between her endless stuffing, Lursa said, “we do not acknowledge your right to take our lawful cargo.”  
     Now, B’Etor managed to speak up around her own cheek-stretching mouthful. “These fruits are not in fact listed on any controlled list of the Klingon Empire. You have no right to take them from us.”  
     Out of the corner of his eye, Picard saw Riker stand and move back to Worf’s station. Thinking he knew what his first officer was planning, Picard began a stalling tactic with the bulging, bloated Klingon sisters.  
     “I know many Klingon foods. I have never seen these before, Lursa. That leads me to the conclusion that they are newly discovered, and their effects have not been documented. All the more reason, then, for us to take at least some of them, and test their effects.”  
     Lursa may have grinned; between her cheeks stretched to their limits, packed solid with the fruits, and the loose fatty pouches on her face, it was difficult to tell. She said, “and yet, you cannot take them from us.” She turned her attention to the helmsman, and calling out, “vIH!” she ordered the ship to move out.  
     As the ship cloaked and moved off, Picard spun to face Riker, still with Worf at his station. “What are you about, Number One?” he asked.  
     Riker stood up from examining the panel and grinned at Picard. “Just before they cloaked, we were able to locate the cargo and beam some of it to our own cargo bay. We should get moving before the Duras sisters figure out what we did.”  
     “Excellent idea, Number One. Ensign Branson, warp factor 3 back to Federation space!”  
     As the Enterprise sped back towards home, Picard called down to Dr. Crusher in Sickbay. “Doctor, we’ve just...acquired some samples of an unknown fruit from a Klingon ship. I’d like you to examine them. A full series of nutritional and biologic tests. I need to know everything important about these fruits.”  
     “Of course, Captain. I’ll get on it,” came her response.

     Some hours later, Dr. Crusher had done a great deal of studying of the fruits from the Duras sisters. Picard called her on the ship’s intercom. “Doctor? Do you have solid data on those fruits we confiscated from the Duras?”  
     “*mrf* Yes, Jean-Luc. *gulp* I’ve done extensive testing, along with *munch* Nurse Ogawa and several *burp* others.”  
     “Excellent, Doctor! Will you come to my Ready Room and report, or should I come to Sickbay? Uh, are you feeling all right, Beverly?”  
     “*mrf*’m fine, Jean-Luc. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”  
     Frowning, Picard, replied, “very well, Doctor. I’ll await your report.”  
     After a moment, he went out to the bridge, and quietly asked if Worf knew anything about those fruits. After rumbling a negative, Worf said he would look through any and all Klingon Imperial records to find out if anything was known already. 

     Nearly an hour later, Dr. Crusher had still not arrived. Picard became concerned. He thought about the extra noises during their call. It had sounded like chewing. An idea began playing around inside his mind, but Picard dismissed it; Dr. Crusher was far too professional to risk exposure to an unknown alien plant species. Thinking further, he decided that she had worked through lunch, and was catching a late meal when he’d checked in. It was certainly possible that she’d had a medical emergency that had prevented her from meeting with him. He decided to go to sickbay himself.  
     On his arrival, Picard saw no one in the main area. Looking around, he called out, “Doctor Crusher?”  
     A mumbled response came from her private office, adjacent to the lab where she would have tested the...er, samples, acquired from the Duras sisters. Curious, Picard went to her office and called out. “Dr. Crusher?”  
     After a mumble he chose to interpret as invitation, Picard entered the office. And stopped dead just inside. All his fears were realized; Dr. Crusher had indeed eaten the strange fruits. And was still eating them, alternating one handful with the other stuffing them into her mouth.  
     Already, she was blown up massively. Even as Picard eyed her gargantuan body up and down, she grabbed another of the fruits in each hand, and crammed them into her mouth, one after the other. Instantly, she grabbed more, waiting for her mouth to empty to stuff more in.  
     Picard’s gaze went over her whole body. Her face was puffed out, with cheeks pouched with seemingly pounds of fat drooping from them. Her neck was so bloated that it blended into her head, just as wide across at the top, and widening even further as it went down to her shoulders, forming a smooth cone of obese flesh blending into her shoulders. The durable, stretchy material of her uniform had actually torn in places, failing to contain her burgeoning immensity, and pudgy domes of fat pressed out of the many holes they had made in the clothing. Her arms were doughy masses of fat, long since torn free of her sleeves, and making many folds and rolls enveloping every joint. Picard could easily imagine her legs as the same bloated fatty blobs. A quick glimpse under the desk showed him only her feet, burst out of her boots and looking like nothing so much as mounds of putty, with their wide fat deposits, and rolls of her ankles covering the tops of the ball-like feet.  
     Her belly stretched out far in front of her, pushing against her desk and billowing up over the surface, covering almost half of the desk. It flowed out to either side as well, totally encompassing the chair. Even through the many folds of fat enclosing it, the hard tightly-packed stomach could be easily seen. With each gigantic mouthful she swallowed, Beverly’s stomach lurched outwards just a little bit more, straining to stay intact as she packed more and more of the fruits into her tight gut.  
     Her eyes were glassy and vacant as she focused on nothing but stuffing more and more into her bulging cheeks, forcing the massive mouthful right down her throat, by just the force of the new load shoved in.  
     “Beverly!” Picard barked, trying to snap her out of her obvious daze. She blinked, slowly, and mumbled something through her fully-stuffed mouth. Decorum be damned, Picard crossed behind her desk and grabbed both of her wrists. His hand couldn’t even reach half-way around her newly-fattened wrists, but his weight on them stopped their endless stuffing motions. Crusher chewed and swallowed the remaining fruit in her mouth the more usual way, and struggled, panting, to get her hands free.  
     “Want more,” was all she said. “Gimme more.”  
     Suddenly unsure how to proceed, Picard gave a loud call for Beverly’s most common nurse, Ensign Ogawa. Minutes passed, and nothing. Groaning aloud, Picard worried that she, too, had succumbed to the incredibly addictive fruits. “Computer!” he called, “locate Ensign Ogawa!”  
     A second later, the computer system chittered, and replied,”Ensign Ogawa is in Sickbay.”  
     Now more certain that Ogawa was in the same predicament as Dr Crusher, Picard tensed, then let her hands free. In the same motion, he swept the remaining fruits off of the desk and out of her reach. He counted on her immobility to keep her from eating more of them. Sure enough, after a momentary struggle to move, resulting in only waves rolling through her new acres of fat, Crusher just lay in the chair, panting from the effort of trying to move her massive bulk, and moaning for more fruits.  
     Calling in several off-duty medical staff, Picard explored through Sickbay, eventually finding Ogawa, just as stuffed as Crusher, and nearly as fattened. She was actually stranded in the middle of the floor of one examination room, her gargantuan belly stuffed so tight that it formed a ball, big enough to keep her feet from reaching the floor to move herself. All she could do was rock back and forth on her massive ball-belly, nearly weeping for want of those damned fruits.  
     As he waited for the extra medical staff to arrive, Picard searched through the rest of Sickbay, finding every staff member, 2 doctors and 5 nurses, in the same situation. Either stuffed so impossibly full that they were immobilized, or still actively cramming mouthful after mouthful into their greedy maws, packing themselves fatter and fuller. One nurse was so obscenely huge that Picard was afraid she’d actually burst right there. Quickly he jumped across the room to her and actually slapped the last two fruits out of her hands. The woman actually cried aloud, trying to chase them down and only rolling around the room like an overinflated ball.  
     Just as the extra medical staff arrived, Picard found one last surprise. Somehow, Counselor Troi had been in Sickbay and succumbed as well. Picard could clearly remember her mammoth obesity from the bridge just hours before. Her newly stuffed body dwarfed her previous size into nothing. She had managed to feed herself enough of those fruits that her newly engorged belly reached nearly wall-to-wall in the room she occupied. Looking over her impossibly bloated form, Picard could see that her new vast body formed a sort of channel, guiding the fruits right down the slope of her gargantuan belly into her mouth. She was still munching on a steady stream of the things as they moved steadily, like an assembly line, down her throat, bulging her stomach out farther and tighter as she packed more and more inside, endlessly.  
     Even as Picard tried to figure a way to remove the fruits from their perch on her enormous belly, Troi had finished the last of them, gave a quick belch, and started moaning, like all the others, for more.

     By the time the back-up medicals had dealt with Crusher and her people, treating with anti-addiction medications and leaving them sedated to recover, Picard had convened a staff meeting in his ready room. Himself, Commander Riker, Data, and Geordi LaForge were present, as was Worf, as their resident Klingon as well as chief of security. Doctor Emil Costa took Dr. Crusher’s place.  
     “Well, it seems clear that those fruits are quite addictive,” Picard began after calling the meeting to order.  
     Dr. Costa spoke up. “And they also contain extremely high-energy compounds, and seem to hyperactivate the lipases in the digestive system, leading to extreme weight gain if overeaten.”  
     Wryly, Picard answered, “indeed so, doctor. Is any further action necessary for the exposed crew to recover?”  
     “It seems not, Captain,” the doctor went on. “The addictive mechanism seems consistent with usual physical addiction; the standard treatments seem to be working.”  
     “Very good, Doctor. Thank you,” Picard said to him. Looking over, he noticed that the doctor wasn’t quite finished. “Something else we need to be aware of?”  
     Fidgeting uncomfortably a moment, Dr. Costa answered, “yes, sir. It seems that the digestion of these fruits, and the processing of the fatty tissues that result, generates much more methane than is usual in digestion.”  
     Riker spoke up, “will that cause a problem? Methane is explosive.”  
     Dr. Costa looked across the table at Riker. “No, sir. The atmospheric systems of the ship will safely remove all but the highest concentrations of methane easily. The only real effect will be, well, excessive flatulence as the body egests the methane gas.”  
     Picard noted Worf nodding slightly. “Mr. Worf, do you have something to add?” he asked.  
     Worf answered, “the doctor’s report is consistent with similar records of fruits like these in Klingon history. The reports I have accessed include fruits similar to those we acquired from the Duras sisters, though no reports I have found detail such...extreme gains. It would seem that these fruits either are a related, but distinct, species, or have been genetically altered from the originals, for increased effects.”  
     “Thank you, Mr. Worf,” Picard said. “Have you discovered any other problems with the original species?”  
     Worf seemed a little uncomfortable as he considered his answer. After a few moments, he did respond. “Some of the chemical bonds holding the various nutrient molecules together seem especially responsive to certain microwave radiation frequencies. A high-energy burst of the appropriate frequency will dramatically increase the output of methane.”  
     Riker spoke up. “How dramatic, Worf?”  
     “Unknown, sir. The unmodified fruits will break down in seconds, even inside a digestive system, producing well over five times the amount of methane gas.”  
     Riker nodded, finishing with, “producing much more gas egestion.”  
     Costa added, “and, depending on the amount that is in the stomach/intestinal tract of the person, could go so far as painful bloating.”  
     Picard wondered aloud, “bloating? With the amounts we’ve seen consumed by the various victims, could physical harm result from that?”  
     Costa thought a moment. “You mean internal injuries, rupturing and so on? I suppose it is possible, but we don’t have the data yet for me to answer with any certainty. We’ll need to get the exact frequency and test the fruits we still have.”  
     Data added, “Captain, I have taken the liberty of accessing the tests that Doctor Crusher performed before succumbing to the addictive properties of the fruits. They show indications of being genetically modified.”  
     Picard considered a moment, then asked Data, “could the Duras sisters have performed the modifications themselves?”  
     Data thought a second, and answered, “unknown, captain. It is certainly within Klingon technological development, but there is no record of the Duras sisters, or anyone in their household or employ, possessing the requisite genetic knowledge or skills.”  
     Riker said, “so we have another player here.”  
     Picard answered him, “indeed, Number One. A player who has reasonably advanced genetic skills, and possibly a reason to cause a wave of addiction and weight gain in the Klingon Empire.”  
     Each man at the meeting thought a moment about what that might mean. Picard glanced around the table, noting the facial expressions. Riker seemed intrigued, possibly by the plan that would necessitate such a move. Or possibly, Picard mused, remembering Riker’s look when faced with Troi’s new obesity, he was simply considering the attraction for such massive weight. Data was, as always, inscrutable, his face neutral. Worf’s expression was fierce, as usual; likely he was already thinking in terms of an attack on the Empire, and how to identify and meet the exact threat. Picard simply didn’t know Costa well enough to clearly read his face; Geordi was also hard to read with the VISOR covering his eyes, but Picard knew him well enough to tell that he was likely thinking of both the methods and technology needed for such an action, and considering how such a move might fit into any plan against the Klingon Empire. A tilt of his head indicated to Picard that he had changed patterns, and might now be thinking of how to help afflicted women retain mobility. That recalled another point that Picard was curious about.  
     “Doctor,” he asked, “it seems that only females are affected by the addictive properties.”  
     Costa nodded, adding, “yes, Captain, we have seen that also. As yet, no tests have given the slightest idea why that might be. My team is running a new cellular work-up to investigate some hypotheses on that.”  
     “Very well, doctor,” Picard answered. “On that point--”  
     “Not to interrupt, Captain, but we have already quarantined the remaining fruits, and are keeping female crew members away from them. Now, if I may, I’d like to return to Sickbay and resume the testing.”  
     “By all means, doctor. Thank you for your input.”  
     Dr Costa rose to return to Sickbay. But, even as he was rising, an explosion rocked the ship. Costa fell back into his chair, while the rest of them quickly braced themselves against the table.  
     In the next second, Worf shouted, “that was a phaser blast!” as he rose and ran to the main bridge, taking up his station at Security. Geordi took off for Engineering, Costa headed back to Sickbay, and Riker, Data, and Picard followed Worf to the bridge.

     Even as he moved to his usual position to Picard’s right, Riker called out, “Mr. Worf, what’s out there?”  
     “A Klingon Bird of Prey, D12 class,” Worf responded instantly. After another second, he added, “it is the Duras sisters.”  
     Before Picard could react, Worf said, “they are hailing us.”  
     Settling himself, Picard tugged down on his uniform in his habitual twitch. “Open a channel, Mr. Worf.”  
     Rumbling, “aye, sir,” Worf did just that.  
     Lursa appeared in the center of her ship’s bridge, still incredibly devouring handfuls at a time of the fruits. Not even slowing her stuffing, she mumbled through the massive mouthful, “give us back our cargo!” sending half-chewed bits flying through the air.  
     “Not this time, Lursa,” Picard said calmly. “Between your own situation and what’s happened to my own crew, I have sufficient evidence to declare those fruits quarantined as dangerous. You know that your ship won’t match the Enterprise in a full confrontation; we will take custody of the remaining fruits you have on your ship.” Picard paused a moment, considering how much they’d likely consumed already, then finished, “those that remain that you haven’t consumed yet, that is.”  
     Suddenly, Worf called out, “another ship decloaking to starboard, sir!” just as a Romulan Warbird appeared next to the Duras sisters’ ship. “Seriously?” Riker muttered.  
     Picard suddenly remembered about Sela, the daughter that Tasha Yar had borne after she had been sent backwards in time to repair the timeline caused by the Romulan attack on a Klingon outpost on Narendra III 20 years previous. The Romulans, and especially Commander Sela, were deeply involved in the Duras sisters’ prior gambit for control of the Klingon Empire. So his only surprise when the Romulan opened communications with the Enterprise was that Sela had also been indulging with the fruits. Standing in the center of the viewer, as was the standard Romulan method, her body was so wide that it filled the screen totally, even reaching outwards off the sides of the viewscreen. Her face likewise was bloated, with at least 3 chins drooping below, and her cheeks inflated like balloons. If Picard hadn’t already known of the fruits and their effects, he might had thought that the display screen was malfunctioning, stretching the image out to 2 or 3 times its proper width. Glancing downwards on the image, he could see that her breasts were massively inflated with fat as well, straining at the stiff material of her uniform, and even opening gaps between the fasteners.  
     As was by now expected, Sela’s hands, little more than huge balls of fat at this point, were gripping the fruits, and stuffing them into her mouth steadily, one after another. Somehow, she still tried to maintain the Romulan haughtiness.  
     It was spoiled by her inability to speak while incessantly stuffing herself. All the Enterprise crew could hear was garbled nonsense. Sela visibly forced herself to let her mouth empty. It was interesting to Picard how difficult it seemed. Finally, her mouth empty, Sela worked her jaw a bit, adjusting to motions not involving chewing and swallowing, apparently unused to such motions now. “Captain, we meet again. And again, you are interfering in legitimate operations.”  
     “Your operations the last time were anything but legitimate, Commander,” Picard responded with a wry grin. “And we’ve just determined some...troubling effects of the fruits that you’ve been providing for the House of Duras. Not least of which is their highly addictive nature. I’m afraid that we must halt your trading operations, for the moment, while we establish exactly how dangerous they are, and place them correctly on controlled substance lists for both the Federation and the Klingon Empire.”  
     Sela’s fat face darkened with rage, though she tried to maintain her composure. Picard could see her calculating the odds, considering her options. Privately, Picard thought she might take the better part of valor and back down, at least openly, and for the moment.  
     But, before she could announce any conclusion she’d reached, Lursa, still on the other open channel and watching the entire display, cried out. “No! You’re not going to abandon us again! We need those fruits!” With a glare at Picard (and the Enterprise), she shouted over her bloated shoulder, “qul!”  
     After a second, during which her weapons officer tried to figure out which ship she wanted to fire on, the Bird of Prey shot at the Enterprise.  
     The bridge shook as the blast impacted the Enterprise’s shields. Picard, bracing himself against the back of Ensign Branson’s seat, called out, “return fire, Mr. Worf!”  
     Worf quickly responded, “phasers off line, Captain!”  
     Riker added, “photon torpedos, then!”  
     Worf just shook his head. “Photon torpedo targeting systems also damaged, sir.”  
     Thinking quickly, Picard turned to Data at his station. “Can we incapacitate the Klingons with the high frequency microwave radiation Mr Worf mentioned?”  
     Even as Data answered, “I believe so, Captain,” his hands flew over his controls, preparing the Enterprise main deflector dish to emit such a burst.  
     Picard raised on hand, ready to make his usual “make-it-so” gesture. Then he paused. “Can we avoid hitting the Romulan ship?”  
     As impact from the Klingon ship hit them, Data shook his head. “Not as yet, Captain. Configuring the deflector dish for a narrow beam emission would take several minutes.”  
     Bracing from yet another weapon hit, Picard said, “minutes we don’t have. Very well, Mr. Data, fire the microwave burst.”  
     “Aye sir,” Data responded as he did just that.  
     Almost instantly, the Klingon weapons fire stopped. Riker rose and stood next to Picard. “I wonder how long it’ll take to work?” he wondered.  
     Wryly, Picard said, “not long at all, Number One. Look.”  
     On the viewscreen, both men could see the Klingon sisters grabbing their midsections (as well as they could reach their massively bloated arms around their even more enlarged bellies). Behind them, the rest of the crew could be seen doing the same. Even through the communications channel, all of the Klingon women could be seen to expand visibly, like gigantic balloons. As their bodies swelled, grunts could be heard as their armored clothing resisted the expansion, squeezing them tighter and tighter as the gas was produced. Both Lursa and B’Etor opened their mouths at the same time. Picard thought they would scream in Klingon warrior fashion, but all that happened was an incredible belch from each of them, in loose unison. All the Enterprise bridge crew could also hear repeated farting and gas expulsions from the whole Klingon crew as their bodies tried desperately to expel the enormous amounts of methane they were producing.  
     It was too little, and too slow; the Klingon women steadily inflated like balloons as more and more gas was generated. Finally, their armor couldn’t take any more and, one by one, each woman burst out of her straining clothing. As the shredded material fell away, the bodies of all of the crew leapt outwards, doubling in size in an instant. Cracks and pops could be heard as the bridge, already filled to capacity by the massive women, was overfilled by their ballooning bodies. All of them gave out grunts and painful moans as their skin started to stretch to its limits, growing taut and shiny like balloons ready to pop.  
     A moan of a different sort drew the Enterprise crew’s attention to the other half of the viewscreen, still showing Sela on the Romulan ship. She’d fallen backwards and lay sprawled on the captain’s chair of her bridge. Her body, too, had ballooned huge and tight. In fact, her Romulan uniform, mere fabric, and more form-fitting than the Klingons’, had already been shredded and fallen away in scraps, leaving Sela’s balloon-body naked to everyone’s view. The rest of her bridge crew stood still, transfixed by the awesome spectacle before them.  
     At first, Picard thought she was doomed, as the Klingons were. But, as he listened closer, he realized that Sela was moaning in ecstasy. She was enjoying the massive inflation of her body. The rest of the crew weren’t panicking in the least; it seemed likely that they were well aware of the possible effects of the fruits, and had plans in place to deal with the consequences.  
     The whole Enterprise bridge crew shifted their gazes back and forth between the two images; the Klingons writhing in discomfort or even pain as their bodies inflated uncontrollably, and they filled their bridge (likely their whole ship) with massive amounts of explosive methane; and Sela, blissfully moaning as her body inflated larger and larger, swelling up and engulfing first her chair, then much of the main floor of her bridge.  
     Just as Sela seemed to reach her highest climax, one of her crew suddenly noticed that the comm-channel was still transmitting the entire episode. The last moment Picard could see as the image winked out was of Sela screaming in rapture, and her body seeming to shrink back down, possibly expelling the excess gas in an orgasmic release.  
     Turning his attention to the Klingon bridge, like the rest of his crew, Picard could just barely see, around Lursa’s gargantuan ballooned body, one of her crew wilt backwards, held erect only by her enormous blimped belly. She gave a short jolt, and pink blood could be seen running down her front as her skin finally gave in and ruptured. Immediately after that gory image, the Klingon bridge, already worn and in disrepair, finally seemed to break down under the assault of the gargantuan volume of Klingon bodies. One quick flash of a spark from damaged equipment, and the transmission abruptly ended, leaving only an exterior view of the Bird of Prey, flanked by the Romulan Warbird.  
     A bare second after the transmission ended, the Bird of Prey lurched, then simply exploded in a huge fireball. “What the hell happened?” shouted Riker.  
     Data turned to face him, and said, “I would surmise, Commander, that the methane-air mix inside the Klingon ship had reached the optimal ratio, and the spark we saw from the damaged mechanism, or another spark elsewhere in the ship, ignited the atmosphere of the ship.”  
     Worf growled, then spat, “that death was too good for them. Dishonorable inflation and popping would have been more deserved.”  
     Shaking himself back to focus, Picard addressed the bridge crew. “Be that as it may, we shall have to inform Gowron and the High Council of what’s happened here.” After a short pause, he added, “I daresay that Gowron won’t be very unhappy that the troublesome Duras sisters are finished. Warp Factor three, Ensign, to Qo'noS. Let’s get this over with.”


End file.
